Tom Riddles Plural
by Haripoons
Summary: Everyone's read the story where there's a Tom Riddle and a Voldemort wreaking havoc at the same time due to the diary horcrux, but what if there was a different version of Voldemort brought to life for every single one? With eight different Tom Riddle's running around and Harry an adorable twelve year old to boot, what's a Dark Lord to do? AU obviously. Rating may increase.
1. Chapter 1

Expendable Death Eater #1 drops Nagini, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's locket, Ravenclaw's Diadem, an old diary, the Gaunt ring, and an unconscious twelve-year-old Harry Potter into the prefect's bathtub at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft. Finally, all of the pieces of his Lord will be reintegrated into the currently alive main body and the Dark Lord will be more powerful than ever before! All the mudbloods will be extinguished, all the bloodlines pure, and all the blood traitors brutally tortured. It will be glorious!

The death eater pulls out a battered grimoire and begins chanting the words of the terrible ritual, just as his Lord has instructed him. Suddenly, he is distracted by Harry Potter standing up in the gigantic tub, coughing water out of his lungs. What?! The boy should not have regained consciousness until the end of the ritual! What is happening? What is going wrong?

Suddenly, the death eater realizes, with a dawning sense of horror, that he's stopped the chanting so necessary to complete the ritual. Oh dear. An ominous fog begins swirling through the room, obscuring each of the Horcruxes and Potter's bleary form.

The death eater screams as his body is slowly dissolved, powering a different ritual accidentally enacted. Five. Four. Three . . Two . . . One . . . . . The fog clears. The horcruxes have disappeared (though Harry remains alive) and as the Boy-Who-Lived blinks tiredly he counts . . . err . . . seven other bodies. What?

Harry inspects the bodies more closely. All are unconscious, and . . . all appear to be the same person at various ages.

"I hate my life," Harry groans, pouting cutely. It is at that moment that all seven of the . . . person open their eyes.

 **A/N: So I just wanted to see if there's interest in this idea. If there is I'll continue. If there isn't, I'll scrap it. It's gonna be a crack fic, obviously. Slash? We'll see. There are gonna be eight different Voldemorts to ship with people after all.**


	2. Chapter 2

The oldest of the seven is the first to rise, standing quickly with the confident movements of someone used to combat situations. The man makes an aborted hand motion near his chest, reaching, Harry realizes, for his wand. Or at least attempting to.

Upon realizing his lack of wand, and nudity (thank god, Harry thinks, for the bubbles in the water) the man glares at Harry, his eyes glowing a malevolent crimson as he strides forward, looking murderous. Harry squeaks at the outstretched hand reaching towards his throat and quickly ducks down fully into the water and swims (more of a wriggle really) away from the crazy person as quickly as he can.

The man hisses angrily and prepares to summon a torrent of wandless electricity to fry the little bastard who thinks he's going to escape Lord Voldemort after stealing his wand and leaving him Merlin knows where- Wait. He recognizes this place. The . . . The prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts? But how? Who would be powerful enough to bring Lord Voldemort here? Is this one of Dumbledore's schemes?

The man looks around warily. Six different bodies, all with a very familiar face, are standing up in the water. "Who are you?" he demands, only to be pinned with six identical glares.

"Lord Voldemort," the four eldest say coldly at the same time, as the two youngest mutter "Tom Riddle."

The man takes a moment to think of his last memory. Before he was here he was . . . storming Godric's Hollow to murder the prophecy child and ensure the victory of the Dark. And the spell backfired. And based on the ages of his other selves . . . Hmmm. Which means, logically, the others must be . . .

"Horcruxes." All the Voldemorts say at the same time.

Harry takes that moment to come up for air, having been hiding in the corner of the bath, away from the scary, murderous guy. He takes a breath as quietly as he can and begins slipping out of the bath, trying to avoid attracting any attention. Slowly . . . slowly . . . almost there . . .

Seven heads swivel in his direction.

"Aww crap," Harry sighs.

"Your name, boy," the oldest one commands.

"Err . . ." says Harry, wondering if he can get away with telling the man that it's Won Reasely.

"I'll know if you're lying. And if you lie you will regret it."

The youngest of the group (he looks like a fifth or sixth year) smirks at the words of the eldest. Harry thinks it's utterly unfair that they can all look so terrifying while soaking wet and naked.

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry grudgingly admits, scowling, "What's yours?"

The man is smiling now, and it is a decidedly not-nice smile. "I am called Lord Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widen and he tries to dash for the door: "Oh shi-"

A hand snags the back of his soaking pajama shirt. "No, Mr. Potter, I don't believe you'll be going anywhere."

A different Voldemort grabs Harry's wand out of his pocket. The last thing Harry hears is the oldest Voldemort ordering the others to "take the boy with us. He's important." Before a jet of red light knocks him unconscious.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A disillusionment spell is all it takes to get the seven Tom Riddles far enough from Hogwarts to apparate.

"Where will we go?" The youngest Tom Riddle asks.

The other six smirk in unison.  
"I'd forgotten how young you are," comments one of the Voldemorts. "You haven't even killed our father yet."

Tom crosses his arms and glares.

"We'll be going to Riddle manor," another interjects. "It's large enough to suit our purposes and the entire town thinks it's haunted and avoids it."

Tom raises an eyebrow: "And how are we going to deal with this situation?" he asks, gesturing to his six counterparts. "We've no way to address each other, even. We can't all be called Riddle or Voldemort."

"I will be called Voldemort," the oldest one says with a glare that dares any of the others to argue. "I _have_ been Voldemort the longest out of all of us, after all. The youngest will be Tom. The second youngest Riddle. The other three of you can be Voldemort 1, Voldemort 2, and Voldemort 3 in decreasing order of age."

The others glare.

"If any of you have a better idea I would certainly be open to hearing it."

"Your suggestion is practical for the time being," Voldemort 2 admits grudgingly, "But we will be having words about this later."

Voldemort's lips curl up into a wide, dangerous smile. "I'll look forward to it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry wakes up on a cold, stone floor. He turns his head and sees a blurry pair of shoes. So he's in a mudroom, and his glasses are missing. Greeeaaaaat.

He stands up with a groan and stretches before cautiously approaching the doorway that leads to the rest of this . . . house? He steps through into what looks like a kitchen. Harry catalogues the location of the steak knives in his mind, just in case.

He slips into the next room and sees the Voldemorts (uh-oh) conversing at a long dining table. He starts to back away slowly, only to freeze as seven heads swivel towards him. "You know it's really creepy when you guys do that," Harry comments before he can stop himself.

Voldemort turns to Riddle, glaring. "What is he doing here?"

Riddle raises an elegant eyebrow. "I put him in the coatroom with the rest of our possessions. He must have wandered out."

"You should have bound him at least!"

"Why?" Riddle asks, confused by Voldemort's concern. "He's just a twelve-ear-old boy without a wand. There's nothing he can do."

"All is not as it appears," Voldemort hisses. "There is a prophecy . . . "

"Could you not talk about me like I'm not here?" Harry interrupts, somewhat annoyed. "Also I'm not a _possession_ , I'm a person."

He steps forward, intending to get in their faces and make a point (he always has been incredibly lacking in self-preservation), but everything is incredibly blurry without his glasses, and he finds himself becoming dizzy. He bangs into the wall and falls to the floor, momentarily dazed."

Voldemort pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Where. Are. His. Glasses."

"I threw them out," Tom answers, carelessly. "I thought this boy was the enemy. I was simply making it harder for him to fight back."

"Perhaps," says Voldemort 1, "But I suspect having our prophesized enemy noisily walking into walls all day will quickly get old. We should either kill him now or get him fitted for another pair of glasses."

"If you aren't going to kill me then can you get me some food, too?" Harry calls from the floor. "I'm starving.

"We can't kill him until we figure out the Power We Know Not," Voldemort grimaces. "Just think of it as having a . . . very inconvenient pet."

"I'm a human!" Harry protests, but the effect is somewhat muted when he slithers back into the kitchen like a snake in search of food. What? Cut the kid a break. He _is_ really hungry.

Tom leans back in his chair and smirks. "He's no basilisk, but he'll do."

 **A/N: REEEVVIIIEEEWWWS are love. So you know. Tell me what you think. A reminder, this story is CRACK so don't expect seriousness. And it can go in any direction so suggestions are welcome. Enjoy!**


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